It's about time I wrote on this thing. I set it up because I'm in the habit of collecting old photos, letters, postcards, and other ephemera that once belonged to someone. Also, I'm fascinated by antique gadgets and the sounds they make--sounds that have almost disappeared from our soundscape, like typewriter letters thwacking a page, a shutter click from a manual SLR camera, the grinding of coffee beans in a hand-cranked mill, and the roll of a rotary-dial phone. These are the people and things I'd like to document here.
The title of this blog came from a time when I worked in my college's archives. The elderly (yet cantankerous, spunky and opinionated) nun (who would pat the head of a statue of Jesus at the door to the archives and say, "Hello, Jesus") who ran the archives put me on a special assignment one day. Usually my job consisted of filing random papers pulled out of office trash bins (i.e. memo notes) or newspaper articles about the college, or organizing old photos (mostly I'd just sit there and pour over them--not doing much organizing), or dusting antique tea cups and original editions in the rare book room. But on this particular day, Sister M. handed me a large black and white photograph of a pretty girl who had black bobbed hair. It looked like a senior picture. There was no name or other information on the back. "Find her," Sister said, and handed me the photo.
Making myself comfortable on the floor in the library stacks, I pulled out several old yearbooks from the shelf and began flipping through the pages. I can't remember how long it took--maybe only an hour, or maybe a day or two, but I found her, in a yearbook from the 20's. It was the same senior picture that I held in my hand. Her name was Mary McNally. She showed up in other yearbooks too--it seemed she was fairly popular and was involved in several activities.
When I told Sister M. who she was, she said, "You rescued her from obscurity."
I don't know why, but this has always stayed with me. When it was happening, when Sister M. uttered that phrase, I told myself: remember this moment.
That's what I'm seeking--adventures like these where objects and photos from someone's ordinary yet extraordinary life can be rescued from obscurity.
